


Dark Eyes 2

by helens78



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-19
Updated: 2003-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi pounces Qui after a night of clubbing. Things look significantly different from Obi's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Eyes 2

Qui came home early from a meeting with Mace, and he saw me leaving for the clubs. Damn. I hate it when that happens. He gets this look on his face -- I'm sure he disapproves. I'd love to explain to him that it's just sex, nothing heavy or dangerous or even serious, but I don't think he'd want to hear about it. He tries hard not to notice my sex life, and I don't want to make that difficult for him.

"Going out tonight?" he asked.

I'd had a hard time meeting his eyes. "Yes, master," I'd finally managed.

"Be careful."

That made me smile. He worries about _me_ when I go out -- not what I'll do, but what might happen to me. I reassured him that I'm always careful, and then I left.

So now I'm out at Rising, a club T'nell and I discovered not too long ago. And I've been careful; I'm always careful. Having access to the best healers in the galaxy doesn't mean I _want_ to have to deal with some of the nastier diseases that can spring up in an environment like this, after all.

An enthusiastic blowjob leaves me grinning like a hungry wolf as I look around for my next target. My eyes have kept coming back to this guy at the bar for the last hour -- he's standing at the end of the bar, watching people. He has dark, slightly curly hair, and a half-smile, half-smirk on his face that says _I can have anyone in this club, and I know it..._ I've practiced that expression in the mirror, as it happens, and I suspect he has, too.

He's a little overdressed for Rising -- a grey, tailored jacket and trousers, and a plain black shirt. The chronometer on his wrist is heavy and probably expensive. I can't make out his shoes from here, but I imagine they're probably complaining about what they're standing in. This guy is fucking _gorgeous_, and he's alone.

What's more, he's alone by choice. I've seen men, women, and beings of indeterminate gender come up to him and try to chat him up, and although he's polite, and often buys them a drink, he's not interested.

He's also caught me watching him a few times. I'm going to have to go over there eventually, or he'll think I'm a stalker. Can't have that.

I pick my way across the dance floor, turning down a few advances and returning a few gropes as I go. When I'm halfway there, he zeroes in on me, and his expression turns to a full-on smirk as he watches me come the rest of the way to him. I lean up against the bar at his right side, and smirk back. He's even better-looking at this range. In the smoke and colored, flashing lights, I can't tell what color his eyes are, but they're intelligent -- a plus -- and he's not plastered, even though he's been nursing drinks since he got here. He's a little taller than I am, and under those expensively-tailored clothes he appears to be well-built. I resist the urge to grope him.

"Waiting for someone?" I ask.

"What makes you think that?"

"I've been watching you turn down potential suitors all night long. No one strike your fancy?"

He grins at me, showing teeth, and raises his glass. "Maybe I just like to watch."

"Maybe you just haven't had the right person approach you."

"Are you the right person?"

I bare my own teeth in a grin that promises him I can live up to anything he can imagine. "It depends on what you're looking for."

He reaches out and touches my braid, then lets his fingers trail down it until they slide off the end. "I don't fuck Jedi," he tells me.

That's different. Most people are very curious about Jedi -- especially what they're like in bed. I shrug. "Lots of other people here. I can introduce you to them, if you like."

He looks around, scans the crowd again, and his eyes turn back to me. "I'll pass. My name's Gana. What's yours?"

Normally, I wouldn't tell him my name -- then again, normally, we never would have gotten to the point where we would want to exchange names. What the hell -- "Kenobi."

It's too loud in here; he didn't catch that. "Ben what?" he asks.

"Ben will do fine," I tell him.

"You want to get out of here?"

"I thought you didn't fuck Jedi."

"I don't. But I'd take you out for a drink. Somewhere we don't have to shout to be heard."

I look over the people here at Rising, and realize that I've either had them, or they don't interest me, or I know full well I can catch them another time. I've never seen this Gana before, and I don't know if I'll see him again after tonight. And he's interesting. Maybe I can change his mind about fucking Jedi.

"Yeah. Got somewhere in mind?" I ask.

Just stepping out of the club helps with being able to hear each other. Though my ears still carry an echo of the music, at least I don't have to shout anymore. Actually, at first I say nothing at all, waiting for him to start talking. He smiles at me, and I can see his eyes now. They're brown.

"Are you going to ask?"

"Am I going to ask what?"

"Why I don't fuck Jedi...?"

"It's a hell of a don't-pick-me-up line, of course," I acknowledge. "Are you going to tell me?"

"I don't do one-night stands -- let alone one-hour or one-minute stands."

"And you think that's all Jedi are good for?"

"Are we speaking sexually or politically?"

My mouth turns down at the idea of politics -- I usually work my ass off to avoid it -- but he's right. Jedi do have a role to play in the politics of the Republic, much as I try to ignore that. "Sexually," I clarify for him. "We're just walking one-night -- or one-hour, or one-minute -- stands?"

"I'm not saying I'm not interested." And I realize he never _did_ say he wasn't interested. "But my days of being out on the prowl in clubs are over."

"So now you just watch."

"Now I watch," he agrees, and leads me into a smaller, much more quiet bar, this one with pool tables instead of a dance floor. He offers to get me a drink, and I tell him to pick something out for me while I see about getting us a pool table. The place isn't very full -- most of its traffic is people who have partied out for the night at clubs like Rising, and since it's so early, few people are spilling over. I meet Gana back at the table and he hands me a glass of brandy.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "A beer would have been fine."

"This is better." He has a glass himself, and takes a drink while I watch. I'm imagining tasting it on him, and I suspect he can tell.

I give in and taste it. I don't ordinarily drink brandy, but he's right -- this is good. I'm sure I've had something like it before -- where would that have been? "Alderaan?" I ask.

He's pleased by my reaction, and he nods. "That it is. Ever been there?"

"Once or twice. It's a beautiful planet." I watch his glass, the liquid sliding around in it as he moves his hand, back and forth, gently. "Is it yours?" I ask, wondering where this desire to know more about him comes from. I'm not in the habit of telling people my name, not in the habit of going off and having a casual drink with someone, not in the habit of asking where they come from, what they're doing. But damn, his eyes are dark, and they're like nothing I've ever seen before.

"Mmm." That's not really a yes or no, but I'm going to guess he's from Alderaan anyway. And I'm going to stop asking questions, damn it.

I set up the balls on the table, and he chalks his cue and lines up to break. It never ceases to amaze me how obscene this game can be -- bending over a table, stroking a hard stick, balls going into holes...

I'm distracted enough to miss what he's doing, but that doesn't bother him. He keeps going. He's good at this.

"So what's a nice Alderaani boy like you doing in a grungy neighborhood on Coruscant?" There I go again. What the hell is the matter with me?

He's finally missed a ball, and he walks up to me and stands close -- close enough that I could lean over and kiss him, and I'm tempted to do it. "Something _very_ dirty that you probably wouldn't want to hear anything about," he says, voice low and teasing.

He's probably just a trader. Trading something expensive, by the look of his clothes, but nothing too exciting. People with exciting professions tend to downplay them; people with boring professions tend to try to make them look as exciting as possible. I wonder if it's normal for people to want to be things other than what they are? It's one of the reasons I enjoy the clubs, after all. There's a certain persona I wear when I'm out...

...and it's slipping now that I'm alone with Gana. I turn my attention to the pool game. I line up my first shot and look up at him. "You sure you want to play a game of pool with a Jedi?" I ask.

"Why not? Planning to cheat?"

I give him my best offended look. "Perish the thought."

"Then shoot."

Gana is, aside from being one of the most attractive men I've seen in years, intelligent, interesting, and outright _fun_. We talk about a variety of subjects, all noncommittal, impersonal things unrelated to work or politics or the news. He's the first person in a long time who's been neither intimidated nor impressed by me as a Jedi, which is pleasant.

But he's also an early riser, or so he tells me, and so after a couple of hours of pool and Alderaani brandy, he says he needs to call it a night.

I offer to see him home. He doesn't answer at first, and we walk out of the bar and into the temperate Coruscant night. He looks up at the lanes of traffic, and I think my chance is here. I reach up and pull him down to me, kissing him, softly, invitingly. He responds, and oh, Force, can he kiss. I moan, and start reaching under his jacket.

It effectively breaks the moment, and he pulls away, grinning. He's not even breathing hard, though I am. He shakes his head. "Nice try," he tells me.

"I can do better," I offer. "Spend the night with me. I can find somewhere quiet... private..."

He's already making his way over to a taxi on the ground, and he looks back over his shoulder at me. "I could have sworn I told you I don't fuck Jedi," he says.

"When are you going to be back here?" I ask. I want to see him again. I may not be able to change his mind about fucking Jedi on the night I meet him, but given enough time, I can talk damn near anyone into doing damn near anything. I got Qui. I can get one Alderaani trader who has some kind of strange anti-Jedi-fucking bias.

"Could be a week. Could be a month. I don't know."

And he's off.

I can still taste him, and the brandy.

* * *

Going back to the clubs after spending most of the night with Gana was a waste of time. I was only there about five minutes before I realized nobody there was going to do it for me. I'm so horny I could fuck all night, but the man I want just got in a fucking taxi after telling me he didn't want me in the first place, so screw this. I'm going home.

My own taxi feels empty. He didn't say he didn't want me, I think to myself. What he said was that he didn't fuck Jedi. What he meant was that regardless of how much I might want him or he might want me, nothing was going to happen.

I've heard that one before, and I'm tired of it. I'm sick of people deciding for me that nothing is going to happen between us. Tired of superior looks that tell me they know what's best, and I don't, because I'm younger, or shorter, or a Padawan, or a Jedi...

I'm in a dark mood by the time I get home. I don't feel like meditating. I feel like fucking. I carry this attitude inside with me, and when the door opens, and Qui is lying sprawled out on the couch, the need to prove myself rears up in me. It's been a while since I've gotten any say in whether I get what I want or not. I think it's about time I change that.

I look Qui over, thinking about the way he's tried to pretend he doesn't want me. Thinking about how I've always wanted him. He's reading, lying on the couch so that his legs are up on one of the arms while he leans back against the other. His hair is loose over his shoulders. He's wearing nothing but a thin tunic and sleep pants.

"Some late reading?" I ask. "Or were you waiting up for me?"

"Should I have been?" He's teasing me. Force, I have had enough of being teased. "I have every confidence in your ability to get in and out of any trouble you desire, Padawan. How was your evening?"

"It was..." He looks incredible -- a tangle of elegant limbs spread inelegantly over the couch, hair loose around his shoulders, just begging me to go over and bury my hands in it... I remember, suddenly, how very much I want him. How much I've always wanted him.

And I can't move.

Qui sits up, shifts a bit, and drops his datapad on the table. It clatters against the teacup, drawing his eyes to the tea. His eyes go out of focus for a moment. Tea. He'd had tea that first night, when I'd finally taken matters in hand -- or rather, his cock in my mouth, for the first time. The tea was still hot after I'd sucked on him for a while, so I'd taken some of it and heated my mouth with it, then started sucking him down my throat again. Oh, he'd nearly come off the couch, screaming.

"Are you all right?" he asks. "I didn't expect you home so soon."

"I didn't, either," I tell him. He doesn't seem to quite believe me. "I'll be fine," I insist. "There's nothing wrong. I just didn't feel like being out anymore."

He's not buying it. "Is there anything I can do? Do you want to talk about it?"

My attention is still on the tea, and I don't think I'm the only one remembering that first night. The hell with it; I'm sick of being told no, sick of being told someone else knows what's best for me. I walk over, and sit down on the table. "There's something you can do for me, yes," I tell him. "But no, I don't want to talk..."

I give him enough time to react, to move, to get up, even though I'm sure he won't move a muscle. His eyes are riveted on mine, and just looking at them, I know I have him. I've got him for the night.

He opens his mouth to say something, and I stop him. I press my index finger against his lips. "No, don't say anything," I whisper. "Just feel. Close your eyes."

I feel the hint of a shiver pass through him, and his eyes close. His breath starts to come a bit faster. Six weeks ago, he was a mass of incoherent growling need; tonight, I think I am. I take my finger away, and lean forward. He doesn't move. I kiss him.

I can feel him telling himself he won't react to this. I feel the tense hold on his shields, the way he is determined not to let me know how much he wants this. I know taking this kiss into rough territory would probably get me what I want -- he'd give in, he'd submit, he wouldn't fight me. But I want more than that: I want to seduce him. I want him to have to admit to himself that he wants this. I soften the kiss, and I lick the corners of his lips, the way he loved so much...

My hands come up, tangling in his hair. He moans for me, and his resolve breaks. He kisses me back, and his arms come up and wrap around my waist. He tugs me forward onto him, leaning back against the couch, and I feel his erection. I fight down the arrogant triumph that bubbles up, but I can't help the laugh. I come up and straddle him. Qui's grip loosens, but his hands are still running over my body, over my back.

"Can you imagine how much I need this?" I whisper. "I need you. Are you going to try to pretend you don't want me?"

His eyes are still closed as he shakes his head no. The feel of his beard brushing over my cheek makes me hang on tight; that feels amazingly good. And he wonders why I prefer him in a beard. I pull away and stand back in front of him. "Show me."

His eyes open, and the first thing he sees is my crotch, where my pants are tight against my cock. He looks back up, and I can see it in his eyes: I'm beautiful, he wants me, and here I am. I think I can also see that "I'm-so-old-why-would-you-want-me" feeling under his eyes, which never fails to annoy me. I reach out and cup his face in my palm. He nuzzles into my hand, leaves kisses on the inside of my wrist, and licks down to my fingertips. One at a time, they are pulled into his mouth, licked, sucked on. Every time, it makes me think of how good his mouth feels wrapped around my cock. The gentle nips on my fingertips are almost my undoing. I bring my other hand up so I can feel his hair sliding between my fingers.

"Look at me," I tell him. At first, he doesn't; I curl the fingers that have been running through his hair, and tug. He leans into it immediately, and I remember the night I spent nearly an hour pulling his hair and telling him what I was going to do to him... he came, just from that, before I even got my hands on him. I wonder if I could make him come that way again...

He's trembling now, and I repeat myself: "Look at me." The urgency in my voice has been replaced with the need to seduce him. He bites his lip, and opens his eyes for me. I trail the fingertips of the hand he's been making love to over his face, and I ease up on his hair just a bit. "You're so beautiful," I tell him. His eyes close again, but only for an instant. I can see how he feels about me, how much he wants me, how beautiful he finds me. I remember leaving here thinking he disapproved of the way I looked; I wonder now if he was really covering for the fact that he wants me more than ever when I'm like this.

"Show me how much you want me," I whisper. I uncurl my hand and let his hair slip through my fingers.

His eyes are so blue I could drown in them. I want that mouth on me, but I'm not going to rush him. Not tonight. I came home early. We have all the time we need.

Luckily for me, his thoughts are apparently headed in exactly the same place as mine. He unfastens my pants and slips a hand into them. The relief is almost as nice a feeling as his hand's explorations; the pants were feeling very tight there for a while. He tugs my pants over my hips, and we both sigh -- relief? anticipation? lust? All three? Then his hands are up around my cock, stroking me, and oh, he's so good at this... he speeds up, but sits back a bit so he can watch what he's doing to me. I could feel this way all night long, but I want him to taste me. I want him to take his time here, but I also want to feel those lips on me...

His hand goes to the base of my cock, and he leans forward. I'm moaning even before his lips find me, because I know what he intends to do, and it's amazing. //Yes. Oh, that's so good. Just like that.// It seems I've lost the power of speech. I don't miss it.

I bury both hands in his hair and start moving in his mouth, asking him with my hips to take more. Just a little more... just a little more than _that_... oh, yes. His hands are moving, twisting, one hand is cupping my testicles, and the warmth is just incredible. "Yes... good..." is all I can say. He's so good. This is so good. I can't stand it... he rubs first tongue then lips against the most sensitive spot on my entire body and I let out a low, trembling moan. His mouth goes wide, his teeth carefully away from my cock, and I know it's an invitation to move all I please. I move harder, and his hand falls away so I can fuck his mouth. His hands are on my hips, over my ass, everywhere at once.

"And what's wrong with fucking Jedi, anyway?" I whisper, then realize I said that _aloud_. Idiot. Qui is busy, though, and didn't hear.

I want to feel what he's feeling, so I brush against his shields, asking him to let me in. He does. I get the sensations from him now - how much he loves having his mouth on me, how much it turns him on to have my hands on his head urging me on, how he loves the idea of my fucking his mouth like this. He loves feeling my hands in his hair, urging him forward, loves how my hips move me in and out of his mouth, and he loves how I push him for more when he'd otherwise be teasing me and making me go out of my mind.

//Want you,// he thinks, and suddenly I'm flooded with images that are a mixture of memory and fantasy. I'm lying down with my ankles around Qui's shoulders, Qui pressing into me and pinning my arms down to the mattress. The image is insanely erotic, and I have to pull back or come right on the spot. I pull back.

Now I'm panting, so I want to slow things down. I trail a finger down the center of his face, over his broken nose and down to his lips. When my fingertip crosses his lips, he flicks out his tongue and tries to begin licking, but I pull back from that as well. I want... "Take me to bed," I tell him.

Qui stands up, and we go to his room. He's beautiful, he really is, and before he can turn back to face me I'm pressed up against his back, groping his chest, then going under his tunic. His skin feels so warm, and there's so much of it to touch and enjoy...

He leans back against me. His head goes back, and he moans for me. I move my hands lower, under his waistband and into his sleep pants. He's hard, ready for me. He feels incredible, and the sheer pleasure and joy I feel from him make me laugh aloud. I lean up and plant a kiss on his neck.

"How long has it been, Qui? How long since you've admitted to yourself that you want this? Need this?"

He shifts, not wanting to give me a straight answer. "I don't know," he tells me.

No, I don't think I'm going to let him get away with that. "Poodoo," I tell him, teasing. I take my hands out of his pants and he turns around to face me. I try a different approach. "How long has it been since you touched yourself and thought of me?" His eyes flicker, and he barely, just barely, blushes. "That recently?" I don't want to smirk, not really, though I do want to tease him. I can't completely keep it off my face. I circle him, trying to decipher his thoughts. "This week?" I ask. It has to be recent. He doesn't answer, and the tinge of embarrassment grows stronger. "Today?" Stronger still. Oh, this is better than I thought. I lean close again, nearly have my lips on his ear... "_Tonight_?"

He jerks, which I expected, and I wrap an arm around his waist. I press close to him. My exposed erection digs into his thigh. I tease his earlobe, just for a moment, before asking, "What were you thinking about tonight?"

"The night..." His voice breaks. It's adorable. I squeeze him tight with the arm that's wrapped around his waist, and reach up with my other arm to stroke his back. "The fresher," he finishes.

"Oh, yes..." There have been times when I've wondered if that night was a fever dream, or a particularly intense fantasy. I'm glad it's stayed on his mind. I still wonder if he admits to himself what he was like that night. "I remember it, too, Qui. The way you couldn't speak, because you were too full of need to do anything but growl like an animal? The way you held me down and sucked the skin off me while I screamed? Do you remember _that_?"

He goes perfectly still in my arms.

"You don't have to admit it," I whisper. "It was good, you know, so good I couldn't quite get it out of my mind, no matter how many people I fucked. There's really no substitute for you. Who else do you think I could trust the way I trust you?"

Fuck. Wrong choice of words: I know he sometimes thinks he betrayed my trust by getting involved with me in the first place. I take hold of his hair again and pull... that should effectively short-circuit his ability to pretend I'm not as much in control here as he is. "Stop that. You did _not_ take advantage of me. You have _never_ used your influence to force me into anything I didn't already want." I step back, wanting him to see how much I already want him.

It almost seems unnecessary to say so, but I do anyway. "I want you," I tell him, and I reach up to stroke his cheek. "There doesn't have to be any deeper meaning in it than that. You don't have to think about your influence on me, or what we're doing together, or why I want this so badly. Just touch me..." I wrap his hand around my cock, and from the look in his eyes, I know I have him again. "Touch me," I whisper, and he does, and oh, it's good...

He pushes me, gently, over to the bed. He helps me out of my clothes, first my boots, then my pants. I sit down on the bed, and he kneels in front of me. Then, with a look on his face that most initiates get when they build their first lightsabers -- the "I've wanted this forever, and now I finally get it!" look -- he takes hold of the sides of my shirt and _yanks_. The snaps fly open with a satisfying metallic ripping sound, and I laugh. He must have been wanting to do that all night long. He slides the shirt off my shoulders, and now I'm completely undressed save for the silver chain I've got on my right wrist, and he comes up and kisses me. I can sense him wondering who else kissed me this way when I was out, and although it seems as if it should be obvious, I tell him anyway. "No one. Not tonight."

He looks stunned. It's almost flattering. I know I can have damn near anyone I want, but I was reminded rather painfully tonight that there's a difference between "damn near anyone" and "anyone". But now I'm here, and Qui looks the slightest bit unsure of himself. "I need this," I tell him. "Let me undress you."

He sits down next to me, and I pull his tunic over his head. Force, he's beautiful, and seeing him naked from the waist up never fails to make me want to grab him and fuck him through the mattress. Conveniently, there's a mattress nearby. I lean him back onto it, and tug his sleep pants over his hips and off. As I go, I leave kisses on his gorgeous, hard cock, thinking about how much I want to fuck him, how much I want him inside me. I pull him completely onto the bed and lie down on top of him. He closes his eyes and groans, which makes me laugh again. Qui can make me feel so young, so desirable, so irresistible. I love being able to laugh with him; he makes me feel light, delighted to be with him. Things don't have to be dark and serious between us; they certainly don't feel serious tonight. I'm losing that dark need to fuck the living daylights out of someone due to hurt and rejection, and gaining the need to fuck the living daylights out of Qui because he makes me so damned happy. It feels good.

"Which of us needs this more tonight, do you think?" I ask. I don't think he can answer me. He's listening, all right, but I think I've taken away his power of speech. "Maybe it's me, tonight. Lie still, Qui. Let me have you."

I kiss his neck, sucking gently on it, and then begin moving lower. My hands glide up and down his arms, and I rub his shoulders for him, wondering if he's been tense at all tonight. I don't feel any tension -- he feels as if he's released everything, all his tension, conflict, guilt, into the Force, and it pleases me that he's given in this way. I move my hands lower, and brush past his nipples... he throws his head back into the pillows and gasps for breath.

Oh, he's beautiful when he's this aroused. "Should I do that again?" I tease.

"Oh, please..."

I suspect he doesn't even know what he's asking for. I climb back up his body -- I had only gotten about as far as his stomach -- and touch, kiss, and bite his nipples, making him writhe underneath me. His hips push his erection up against my body, and I reach between us to hold it in my hand and stroke it while I continue my work on his nipples. He's completely incoherent from pleasure now, and I think it's time to keep moving lower...

I think I have Qui nearly in tears by the time I reach his cock, and take it into my mouth. I'm not as good at this as he is, but I am good, and I rub him with my tongue in lazy circles while I stroke him with one hand. When he begins clutching at the blankets, I smile up at him.

"Turn over."

He shivers, convulsively, all over, but then he's turning over, lying on his stomach. I bend my head down again, licking at his inner thighs. And then I move up, finding my way into his cleft, licking and teasing the opening, and absolutely loving the moans of complete and utter joy he lets out. I want a better angle, so I tug on his hips a bit to have him come up on hands and knees. He does, and I use my thumbs to open him a bit wider for me. Now I'm going deeper, licking him in long, slow strokes, making him shake with pleasure before speeding up, fucking him with my tongue, making him beg for me. As the begging reaches its most incoherent, I slow down again, going back to teasing him, lazy again. His head drops onto his forearms, and he moans, softly. When he's caught his breath, I'm at him again, fast, hard, rough, moving in and out until my jaw aches. He throws his head back and begins pushing back against me, and I know it's time. We're both ready.

I call the lubricant on the nightstand to me, and he notices. I'm too busy wiping my face with the back of my hand to look up at him, but I know damn well what he's thinking: blah blah blah, using the Force for trivial matters, etc., etc.. I smack him, one loud slap to his ass that makes him jerk and arch his back a little. "Don't give me that look." I open the lube and spread some over my fingers. "Unless you don't _want_ me to fuck you...?"

By the time I look up, that look is gone. I laugh at him. "Good," I tell him, and then I slide my fingers inside him.

It doesn't take long to get him squirming and begging for me again. He makes promises he won't remember in the morning, and all of them make me smile. One or two make me raise an eyebrow at him. But he's certainly ready for me, and so I lube myself up, line up, and push into him, slow enough to make him _howl_ with pleasure. Oh, I'm going to have to tease him about _that_ noise...

I want to feel whatever made him let out that howl, and I brush against his shields again to have him let me in. Our thoughts and feelings mingle, and I feel his joy, his near-madness. I give him my desire, my need for this, and I don't flinch when he touches the part of me that is still, despite everything, thinking about Gana. He moves away from that quickly, and soon we're lost in each other, our pleasure nearly feeding back on us. I reach around to touch him, but soon I'm so far gone I can only hang onto his hips with both hands and slam against him, hard, harder, oh Force, it's good, oh, it's good, it's so good...

I collapse on him, and we fall onto the bed. He laughs at me.

"Better?"

"A little," I admit. Well, it's more than a little, really, but I don't want him to think I'm through with him yet. I roll off his back and lie down next to him, on my stomach, my ass in the air in direct invitation. "I'll feel a great deal better when you fuck me."

Qui is up and digging through the covers for the lubricant almost before I've finished saying it, and two fingers are pushing into me, rough, hard, barely managing to prepare me for his cock. Oh, Force, that feels good, and it hurts, it burns, but it makes me feel every inch of him, and I love it. "That's it... hard... just like that... oh, _fuck_, you feel good."

He's gone, just gone, and I love that I've made him lose control this way. He does want me; he's always wanted me. And I want him. I can't imagine why we don't do this all the time. He feels so good, so good, and I'm hard again, needing him, wanting him more than ever...

He comes with a roar that is up there with his earlier howl on the list of "noises he will never live down as long as I remember them and can tease him about it". I cover my self-satisfied giggle with a shiver, and when he falls on me, the breath is expelled from my lungs in an "oof". We both laugh.

"How do you feel now?" he asks me.

Like I could go one more time. "Like I could use a shower." I wriggle my hips at him. "A very hot shower."

"Force, you're insatiable." He rolls off me, but I suspect he isn't complaining.

"You bring out the best in me." I turn over and kiss the tip of his nose. "Come with me and tell me what you were thinking about earlier, while you were touching yourself and thinking of me..."

He comes with me, and I turn on the water. We get wet, and wash each other. He takes the soap, and turns me to face the spray while he holds me from behind. Yes -- exactly...

"Now touch me," I whisper, "and tell me what you were thinking about tonight..."

His hand curls around my cock, and he begins touching me with a rough, fast motion that I know is how he touches himself. His lips are at my ear as he begins. "I was here, in the shower, earlier tonight. You'd gone out, and I thought about how hot you looked in leather. How I would have liked to rip your shirt open and have you myself. I even thought about following you out tonight..."

Really? To the clubs? Qui? "Oh?"

"...because I would have loved seeing you dance, and I would have loved being the one who took you to a quiet corner and fucked you senseless."

The image makes me nearly come then and there. He'd be beautiful in the clubs, absolutely magnificent, and they'd be all over him in a heartbeat. And then we could come home, and... "Aaahh."

"Should I continue?" he asks.

"Yes, but..." It's only because I've already come once tonight that I avoid coming all over his hand. "...slower..."

I go limp in his arms, and he supports my weight easily. His free arm circles my chest. I feel absolutely safe here, and I think he realizes it. He goes on, slower, as I asked.

"Then I remembered how much I'd needed you the night you came to me in the fresher. I thought about how you looked at me when you stripped and joined me in the shower..."

How _I_ had looked at _him_? I thought he'd remember this a little differently from how it actually happened; it seems I was right. "And how was that?"

"As if you were daring me to tell you I didn't want you. Asking me why I hadn't come to you."

Ah, well, that I can't deny. "I did wonder."

"And I thought about going to my knees in front of you, and how good it felt to have you in my mouth after..."

He doesn't want to say _after we'd waited so long_, but I know he's thinking it. My tongue feels thick in my mouth. "...yes..."

"Oh, Force, Obi-Wan..."

"...and there was more? Tell me..."

"I thought about the black around your eyes, and then..." The embarrassment is like a small flame in his mind, and he almost doesn't continue. "...and then I thought about who you might be having."

Oh, Force, _yes_. "And who did you imagine?"

"A few different men. Someone tall, as tall as me, with dark skin..."

I can picture him immediately. No one I've had before, just someone out of Qui's fantasies, now in mine... "...shaved head, a thin goatee, muscular, with a cock nearly as long as my forearm..." It's our fantasy, now, and he begins stroking me faster.

"...sweat that smells faintly of cinnamon, he's on your lap, your cock in him..."

I can nearly feel it. "...my head pressed against that hard back, my eyes closed as I rock with him..."

Qui starts over with a new image. "Someone young, your age, who can fuck you all night without needing to come up for air..."

I had no idea he fantasized about this sort of thing, and I suspect he never actually meant to tell me. I run with this one, too. "Red hair, feline eyes that almost glow in the dark. A wet, sloppy blowjob, maybe his first..."

"You're watching the people around you as he sucks you off, wondering who you'll have next..."

"...he's not bad, despite his inexperience, but he'll need practice..."

"...he loves it, and wants more, wants you to come in his mouth..."

"...but I thank him, politely, and move on..."

Another fantasy from Qui -- who knew he was so imaginative? Amazing... "You, taking someone against a wall, driving in hard from behind..."

"Oh, fuck, yes..." And this time, I know who I'm thinking about.

"...both of you closing your eyes and panting..."

"Qui, please, yes... fuck, yes..."

He changes images again: "Or someone driving into you, pinning your hands above your head..."

I didn't want to change yet. I was still fucking Gana, and I want it to be me pinning him... I pant out, "...me pinning him against the wall..."

He comes back with me, catching on. "Someone with a smirk you wanted to fuck off his face..."

Force, yes. "...raven hair, dark eyes..."

"...crying out for you, begging you to let him come..."

I can picture that, Sith take me, can picture it exactly, can imagine that cultured, low voice turning into a scream of need for me, begging me to let him come, begging me for it, until we're both absolutely out of our minds and... "Oh, _Force_..."

And I'm coming myself, with Qui behind me, watching me. I clutch at him, and he holds me tight. Oh, Force, he feels so good. I've been wanted before, I've been able to feel someone's desire for me from across a crowded room, but no one has ever set me on fire with his need the way Qui does. Would he need me this way if we weren't constantly avoiding fucking each other senseless? I remember how hungry he'd always been during those six months together when I was 17, and it makes my blood run warmer. Yes, he'd still feel this way. And so would I.

I turn in his arms, and we kiss. This man and his amazingly talented lips -- I can't imagine how I can resist having him day in and day out. The excuses he had for me, the idea that I'd fall in love with him -- maybe, years ago, I thought I was falling for him, but I know better now. I'm not 17 anymore, Qui. When are you going to notice?

We clean up, and dry ourselves. I'm exhausted now, and if I weren't so tired, I'd offer to dry him, to dry and comb his hair, and give him one last soft, gentle fuck before we go to sleep. But I don't think even I can manage that right now; the last orgasm really took it out of me...

So I leave him at the door to his room. I take his hand, and brush a kiss over his knuckles. "Good night, Qui."

"Good night, Obi-Wan."

I head back to my room, and I stretch out on the bed. My whole body feels relaxed, languid, and it won't take long for me to fall asleep.

I dream of raven hair and dark eyes.

_-end-_


End file.
